A Dead King, From Heracles' Line
by Naril
Summary: She is his daughter, they have taken her from him to serve as their oracle. She sees his death but there is nothing she can do to warn him.   A layer of meaning added to the scene of Leonidas consulting the oracle. Rated for safety.


_I know, I know... What the hell am I doing here? I'm supposed to be working on my FFVII fanfiction but I watched this the other day and as it usually happens when I watch a film which I am divided about, I felt obliged to write a One-shot. I wanted to play around with giving this one scene another layer. _

_Inspiration is sort of drawn from the real history of Sparta (Kind of left out the part that Leonidas married the daughter of his half-brother because that's just gross!...not to mention unhealthy)_

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There was part of me, who no longer knew itself. My life was a constant tangle of past and future. I was no longer aware of my present and glad for it.

The few times that I was aware of my current surroundings were worse than the deepest Tartarus and made me pity the Titans if this was only a fraction of their torture.

The drinks the gnarly deformed hands fed me kept me in a place between sleep and wakefulness. I would still feel the desecrations of my body and the revolting touches before my mind, by now accustomed to do so, retreated back into itself.

I had lasted longer than most. I had been kept like this for a long time. It had been an equally long time since the Oracle had been last consulted. It was a privilege for the King alone and he had gone mad a long time ago. Ever since he had left for the last time, there had been no more visits from the outer world.

Each consultation was accompanied by excruciating pain for me. The ancient drink, which allowed the gods to speak through me, burnt through my body, cramping up all my limbs and contorting my spine to breaking point.

There were two more like me. Neither one of them had been in this state as long as I had. I was their favourite. Vague memories of the reason why I was such a trophy for these creatures calling themselves priests rose from the fogged corners of my brain.

_I am holding a knife, tainted with the stinking blood of the thing that was less than a man that had tried to take me from my mother's side. _

_My father was standing by his brother's throne wide-eyed and despite the sadness in his eyes there was pride too at my defiance. _

_He had gone to plead for me, had tried to protect me like he had when I had been the first-born and not the son that was expected of great men such as him. It had been his right as a Spartan citizen to cast me off the cliff if he had so wished*, but he had not done so, instead loving me like any father should a child and teaching me how to defend myself if need be. _

_Only months ago, my mother had given birth to a strong son. It was him she was holding and I knew it was fear for him that was holding her back from attacking the priests who were approaching again, stepping over their dead companion without a care. _

_My uncle, the king was looking on with a cold satisfaction in his eyes. He had refused my father's demand that I be freed from the priest's choice due to my heritage. _

I know now, that I was the bribe, which allowed him to overthrow his rival Demaratus. It had been his second strike after having sent my father's older brother to his death on Sicily.**

There were clammy warped fingers creeping along my arm. I knew what was going to follow, too removed from reality to be able to fight it. It was time again.

A hand clamped over my nose, forcing me to open my mouth and allowing in the concoction of mushroom sap.*** It was not that I would be able to fight them anymore. It was because my body was incapable of simple movements other than the instincts of a newborn babe.

The hands unbound my wrists from where they secured them together and the bonds around my legs. As the fire of the drug entered my stomach, I was lifted to my feet even though all I was able feel was a vague notion of being upright.

That was when the pain set in. Words were whispered to me, the question for which my body would find the answer. My mind, my self did not understand what was being said. It did not need to.

However, the heightened awareness allowed me to sense something else. It was a very familiar presence, which I had convinced myself I would never sense again. For a moment I caught a glimpse of my present.

My father was standing before the priest wretches who were guarding the Oracle; guarding me. I knew he could see my wasted body through the traditional garments of an oracle, knew that he would remember how my arms and legs had once been strong and healthy where now only skin and bones were left. I could feel his anger but there was more that was causing the tension he was emitting.

Knowledge that was not mine was flowing into me then and I knew that he and my youngest uncle had disposed of the mad King and that this honour was now my father's. He himself had ended my uncle's life, satisfied that he would cause no more dishonour to the family and the bloodline from which we came.

I saw my father defy the Persian emissary, saw why he had finally after years of successfully avoiding to come up here, to see me in this state, been forced to crawl at these creature's feet, because else the council will never approve of his plans.

There was going to be a war. A sense of foreboding ran me through like a cold knife. I saw Stelios who I had known when we were children fight along my father's side against demons I could not fathom. Astinos, little Astinos was there too, and died before their very eyes.

There were coins raining down on me with the sigil of the Persian god-king and those hands that had kept me prisoner so long ran through the golden heap. A man, barely a man, disfigured not only in body but also in his mind approached, leading Persians through a secret passage in the mountains.

And above all, my father, body wrecked with more arrows than I had ever seen, breathing his last with all his companions dead.

I became aware enough of my surroundings to catch another glimpse of him as he stood, arms crossed over his chest, wrapped in his cloak, holding back, always holding back so that he would not be tempted to approach me, to risk the creatures' wrath which would mean death for all his people.

Sparta would fall or lose a King, the die had been cast and it was not in our favour. I knew my father, knew what he would choose. The city needed to live; a king could be replaced.

Another short bout of my present broke through my clouded mind as I collapsed to the ground, my heart racing, breathing turned into painful small gasps. I registered with the by now familiar detachment the creature's foul tongue crawling over my cheek, vaguely wondering, perhaps hoping if this would finally cause my father to snap.

I spoke, without my mind controlling the words, the creature translating for my father, the King.

Something was wrong. Those words were not mine.

It was lying!

I felt it more than heard, my mind still enabled beyond my pitiful existence as the thing lied, changing the prophecy. The coins flashed before my eyes again and I understood. Pitiful monsters. They had let themselves be bribed with coins they would never be able to spend.

They would not give the King my warning about the hunchbacked traitor. They would let my father walk to his death, for he would seek the Persians whatever they said, but like this he would not be prepared.

I wanted to cry out, but my body had not been mine to command in a long time. I wanted to warn my father whose presence was radiating rage by then, so clear and bright that I was sure he would free me after all.

I managed to free myself from the sluggish clouds surrounding my mind and pry my unresponsive eyes off the temple ceiling, to seek his and like the child I had been when they took me was hoping for the parent's protection but he had already turned, walking away from this place that his daughter was condemned to endure for the rest of her life.

He never saw my trembling hand reaching out for him, or the priests grab me to restrain me again for safekeeping until the next consultation, or the next time they felt the need for me. In my last moment of clarity, I knew that this was the last I would ever see of my father, for he would soon be dead.

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_Like? Hate? Any comments? There is potential for a second chapter but I'm not sure if it won't be anticlimactic. _

_*In Greece it was not unknown to dispose of female newborn especially if they were the firstborn. I admit that I am not sure how far Sparta specifically took this but 300 is not historically accurate, so meh._

_**King Cleomenes I. was the halfbrother of Leonidas I and originally heir to the throne. He was declared mad and died in prison under mysterious circumstances. He sent Leonidas eldest brother to expeditions outside of Greece where he found his death and did bribe the Oracle of Delphi to be able to get rid of his co-ruler. Since it was also the Oracle of Delphi that Leonidas originally seeks out I thought that works nicely for artistic interpretations. _

_*** The theory that the Sybils were drugged in order to achieve their visions is quite old and at the temple in Delphi they found evidence for hallucinogenic gases, I simply thought mushroom sap would work better for this particular story. _


End file.
